


Glass Dove

by shieldivarius



Series: Femslash Yuletide 2014 [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol, F/F, Femslash Yuletide, Prompt: Holiday Traditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 22:05:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2708405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shieldivarius/pseuds/shieldivarius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Melinda's family, there had always been traditions involved with trimming the tree, and they were the kind of traditions that had stayed with her even now, years and years later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glass Dove

**Author's Note:**

> All of the Melinda/Natasha stories in this year's Femslash Yuletide are in the same universe and chronological unless stated otherwise!

Melinda had a small box of ornaments hidden at the back of her storage locker and covered—absolutely coated—with dust. Never mind that the storage locker was supposed to be sealed and climate controlled so this much dust couldn’t accumulate on the top of anything stored there—no, that wasn’t too important, it wasn’t as though she had anything valuable here. What _was_ important was that she hadn’t realized her mother had forced the box on her long enough ago for it to become quite so lost behind the rest of her life.

She blew the dust from the top, and brushed what remained away with her hands before loading it into the back of her car. Really, she didn’t know what she was doing putting up a tree this year anyway. It would be the first time since…

Well. Maybe a tree was just the kind of holiday tradition she needed to get back into the practice of having. At least she could guarantee she wouldn’t be dispatched to some war-torn shithole of a place overseas in the middle of trying to enjoy it this year.

The same couldn’t be said for her partner, of course, and Melinda wouldn’t be surprised at all if Natasha found herself called away within the next week—it had been three months since she’d returned from her last lengthy assignment. She was due, and no doubt aware of it.

 

Natasha’s corvette sat parked in visitor parking, tiny between two overcompensating SUVs, when Melinda pulled into the lot at her building. A crowd of teenage boys stood flocked around it, and she hit the horn to disperse them as she drove by. In her rear view mirror, she watched them sulk away, only for one to start to creep back even before her car turned the corner.

Shaking her head at Natasha’s insistence on driving around in a car that flashy—S.H.I.E.L.D. issue or not, and damn but Fury spoiled her—Melinda pulled into her spot and killed the ignition. And then sat and stared in the mirror at the box in the back seat. 

Her relationship with Natasha wasn’t too casual for the other woman to be letting herself into Melinda’s apartment when she wasn’t home, but it was too casual for Melinda to have ever given her a key. And with Natasha not even having a key, it was far too casual for them to be decorating a Christmas tree together with ornaments that Melinda had been given as heirlooms. As much as glitter-covered foam cardinals perched on silver bells could be heirlooms, anyway.

The first time she’d tried to make the cozy, homey relationship life work, her marriage had fallen apart because she just hadn’t been able to pull it off nearly as well as her civilian ex. Natasha, at least, was different. In her relationship with Natasha, _Melinda_ had fallen into the homey role.

How things changed.

Melinda squared her shoulders, sucked it up, and grabbed the box from the back seat.

 

She had the box balanced in one hand and was jiggling the key in the lock—it stuck, but only when the temperature in the hallway dropped too low—when it turned under her hand. Natasha opened the door a crack, the swing stopped by the chain.

“Hi,” Melinda said. Then, when Natasha didn’t move. “Can I come in?”

Natasha wore a silly smile when she finally opened the door, and Melinda didn’t get a chance to put the box of ornaments down before Natasha was leaning against her, their hips pressed together and sandwiching Melinda back against the door. Natasha’s proximity made the box teeter in Melinda’s hand, uneven and with the heavier side scraping against the wall instead of falling onto the floor like it would have in a wider space.

Natasha’s eyes, so close they were almost out of focus, sparkled brightly. “Can I kiss you?” she asked. “I’ve been here alone for hours.” Her breath smelled of eggnog, and that explained a lot.

“Yes,” Melinda said. She fumbled the box again when Natasha pressed right up against her, bumping her shoulder in the process. The kiss tasted like eggnog, and rum, and when they parted Melinda used her free hand to nudge Natasha far enough away that she could get into the apartment to put the box down.

“The carton was already mixed, you know,” she said, eyeing Natasha’s drink where it sat on the table. The eggnog’s distinct gold-stained hue was more translucent than opaque.

“I know,” Natasha said. Then added, “Well. I figured it out.” She peered at the box as Melinda opened it, then shrugged and disappeared into the kitchen. A cupboard door opened and closed with a slam, and she heard ice tinkling as it dropped into a glass.

“I’ll take a shot,” Melinda called. She’d need it to deal with the boxes that had been packed away in neat little rows beneath the string of pearls carefully coiled at the top of the box. And, shit, she’d forgotten to buy new lights. The ones that had been shoved in the back of her bedroom closet for god-knew-how-long were broken and probably had been for almost as long as they’d been put away.

Natasha nudged her hand and forced the drink into it. 

“That’s pretty,” she said, sounding a thousand times more sober than she had a minute ago, and focused on a glass dove packaged in clear plastic in the middle of the ornaments. Melinda pulled it out and handed it to her.

“You can hang it,” she said, and took a long sip of her drink. It tasted more like eggnog-flavoured rum than anything, and no wonder she was drunk if Natasha had been drinking these all evening.

With a tentative hand, Natasha cupped the box in her palm and pulled the dove out from its protective packaging. She hooked the old tree hanger still dangling from the ring on the ornament’s back over her finger.

Melinda nodded at the tree, a little fir she’d picked up at a stand that had opened in a parking lot nearby. “Hang it anywhere.”

Natasha didn’t budge. “I don’t know much about trimming a Christmas tree, but I imagine the lights need to go on first,” she said.

Melinda smiled, feeling the tiniest bit exasperated by the way Natasha seemed to be stalling. “What if I told you that was the ornament we always used to put on first as a family?”

“I’d assume you were lying,” Natasha said flatly. 

Melinda let the corner of her mouth upturn in a little smirk. Of course she would. “I’m not. That’s why it’s at the top of the box. First one to go on, last one to come off. The person who needed to be the one to hang the first ornament was always given the opportunity to do it. Every year.”

Natasha looked unsure, and for a moment Melinda wondered if she had overstepped, sharing a tradition like that when Natasha didn’t even want anything to do with decorating the tree in the first place. After a moment, though, she took a few slow steps, full of trepidation, toward the tree, and stood looking at it for a long minute, back to Melinda.

Then she selected a branch near the top and hung the dove on it, in a space where it hung unhindered by any of the needles around it, framed by green. 

“I’ll get lights in the morning and we can finish decorating then,” she said to Natasha’s still turned back. 

Natasha hummed a noise of agreement and adjusted the dove on its branch.

Melinda smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> http://shieldivarius.tumblr.com


End file.
